It Does Count
by Machinal0me
Summary: It is all about counting points with an eerie alien captor too found of abacuses, but does the higher score really means victory?... Shep whump/puzzled up Shep :P
1. Chapter 1

**Title: It Does Count…**

**I do not own the characters/locations/names or anything else that has something to do with this show or the whole Stargate concept… some new characters and offworld people, yes, but I do not intend to make profit out of it anyway…**

**Notice:**

**-English is not my first language, sorry but I used a wonderful/awesome/generous Beta: ****Light at the End of the Tunnel**‏ :P

**-Contains violence, coarse language kinda, and torture scenes**

**-I am more a fan of Stargate SG1 (and a Mitchell whumper) but ****obsessed1 ****and ****Alipeeps****'s fictions on Sheppard and team are so inspiring I felt as if I had to try to write something about SGA… That means I am not an expert on the matter and the characters, so blame me and not them if the following fic sucks in any way.**

**-I was just something that came to me… plot bunny or something**

**-It's short, but it's not a one-shot… so let's just call it "bantam" :P**

**-If some parts seem… confused or/and slightly incoherent, well it is to illustrate Sheppy's state of mind… ;)**

* * *

Colonel Sheppard had that smug and defiant look on his face as he convinced himself quite easily to not lower down his eyes that were staring at the man in front of him. A man; bald but probably very well shaven, the hairs of his eyelashes and eyebrows nowhere to be found, rather tall, taller than him anyway… broader as well, hard to tell how old he could be… Yet one thing was sure: by the small smirk on his lips and the look in his oddly still and extremely pale eyes –as if his human looking eyeballs were locked or fused in his skull, forcing him to turn the head if he wanted to look sideway–, Sheppard could tell that this man meant very bad news…

_Bad news… maybe it was the whole situation that will lead to his soon-to-be misfortune; as if being brutally manhandled through a thick layer of mud and probably miles of forest by several caveman looking, but well equipped with sharp knives, hired hands, while wondering if his team made it safely to the 'Gate under heavy enemy fire, was not bad enough…_

_And what a headache he had!_

_Things go bad and can always worsen, he thought at this time as his legs, tired of walking and running for so long, seemed to cruelly enjoy failing to support him… Ok, legs don't try to harm usually, but the very powerful punch to his left temple that kept him from joining his team the other side of the 'gate – thanks to one of those armed gorillas-alike henchmen– sometime made it hard to concentrate. Mud on the ground, mud in his shaken up brain, mud in his unsteady legs, blood as sticky as mud down the left side of his face… I sounded somewhat fun to him, and that was what scared him… that and the usual question: does Ronon, Teyla and McKay made it?... Hum… Yeah they did and he saw them going into the event horizon, but did someone got hurt and was currently in a bad condition?_

"You seem distracted, _stranger_… Is there something you want to share with us before we begin the interrogation?"

Oh! Sheppard knew that voice! … Well… of course because it was the odd sadistic looking man standing in front of him that spoke, getting the colonel's mind back on the current moment; where he was sitting on a plain three-legged but quite heavy metal chair, his wrist fastened on each armrest, his ankles tied on the front legs of this rusty chair. Trapped… trapped with a most certainly madman that was speaking with a soporific tone…

And why couldn't his head stop pounding as if thousands of blacksmiths where having fun hammering his skull from the inside?!... Does that counted as a point for the bad guys anyway?

"You could have asked nicely first, before sending your muscled baboons running after us…" Sheppard managed to reply, trying to forget his aches and how fuzzy he felt, how hard it was to think; he could not help it, he was made for constantly showing how stubborn he could be.

"You had that unknown and alien technology, those devices… those _weapons_… We could not risk you using those against our people; we had to intercept your team first…" The bald man said; his voice still as boring as a tired old history teacher.

"Something else to ask first… Maybe we could have made a deal, you know: _trading_ or something, sharing data…" Sheppard commented, a little bit more bitterly than he intended, but at least it was better than slurring his words… He wasn't that woozy yet to slur… or was-he? Damn, what a question!

"Unnecessary, and now that we had you captured, we do not need to waste the resources we have to obtain your knowledge…" The bald one said and to John it clearly meant: _danger, torture ahead!_

"Attacking us to steal our gears only because you never saw such things before was unnecessary and trying to get anything from me is _more_ than unnecessary… I think you are only pissed off knowing it could have been so much easier, Mr. Clean…" The colonel retort, clearly defying his captor; though he could not help but blink owlishly to keep his focus on the other man… Wait, did he really call him Mr. Clean?!

Nonetheless Sheppard was probably right: the hairless man pressed his lips into a thin line and squinted his pale eyes into an angry glower at the fastened colonel, as the dusty generic cell-like room became silent. The "You're so insolent that I'd really like to make you pay for this" kind of silent, Sheppard thought and was nearly proud of being its cause. Does that counted? Good guys 1, bad guys 1… So that would be a tie, deuce Carson would say…

But the moment after Atlantis CO found out he may regret playing that little game over and over again with this bald man that was quite short tempered for someone with a dull voice: his captor suddenly lashed out… So dizzy he was Sheppard barely saw it coming and he did not have the time or a mind clear enough to react to that backhand coming his way at full speed, connecting with his already abused and bleeding temple. His skull knocked back viciously on the metal headrest of his chair, shaking even more his brain probably already suffering from a concussion, and still hat was not the worst part of it…

The trick was that Mr. Clean wasn't quite human and -as far as he could put forward any hypothesis without having revised it- Sheppard later came to think his captor was able of such attacks a vaguely electric eel-like creature could do… Where to start: he did not feel the electric spark that, as the enemy fist connected with his face, shot into his skin and into his thin temple flesh, but he surely felt every muscle of his body instantly cramp and spasm in a gigantic wave of pure agony, the feeling of having only heated up needles instead of blood in his veins and fire running down his nerves, plus a knifing and striking suffering as awful, as the pulse ran through his brain… Maybe it had hit directly at the part of his the brain responsible for pain, who knows?...

One thing was sure: for a single second that seemed to be the worst eternity possible, he tensed and went so stiff from the nearly convulsive shock that the ropes that fastened his wrists bit into his exposed skin; his face obviously screwing up with utter pain. And at the moment the electric impulse went dead in his body, he colonel slumped on the chair; the ropes tying his limbs being the only things that kept his drained up, battered and overtaxed body from sprawling on the dirty floor. Shocked from the experience and his eyes wide opened, his head more than swimming as everything seemed to spin around him, his body still twitching and trembling painfully as if his nerves have been short-circuited by the bolt, shivers down his spine at the same time as a wave of heat seemed to strike only his upper body and leaved him perspiring, Sheppard unwillingly gasped.

Panic and shock… panic: what the hell was _that, _what did _he_ do to him?! It must have spiked his adrenaline and the colonel's heart was running; he jolted on his seat, wildly eying around as he pulled just as wildly on his restraints, panting, horrified without being able to know why or even to thing clearly. He thought his stomach protested his sudden electric boost or the spasms it caused: he could not be sure as pain signals were shooting from every of his sore muscles and were overwhelming his brain… A least he did not retch or else he would have blacked out from the pain even while being so oddly tense and jittery… Pain! Pain! Worst than the headache! He could not go through this anymore, it was too much! It seemed he could only think…

The chair wasn't even rattling from his hectic fight against his restraints and this hopeless fight would even make it worst: he felt as if the some needles in his veins were sill stuck and pricking, every move stirring the lingering pain. He would have to stop soon and before he could not take it anymore, yet it stopped sooner than he would have thought: he suddenly felt a pressure on his throat and he found himself quickly fighting to suck air into his lung… Mr Clean was choking him with his bare hands, but seemed to change his mind to moment he caught entirely Sheppard's attention and instead moved his hand to the side of the colonel's face to push his cheek against the rusty headrest.

As a well trained dog when his master pulls on his leash and threaten to deprive it of oxygen, the colonel froze in fear –an irrational fear induced by the shock and the concussion it is to understand- his panting gasping breaths, the lines of pain on his face and his muscles shivering out of his control being the remaining proofs of the jolt that stroke him at the same time as his captor's punch…

"Too much of this punishment and it will cause serious damages to your nervous system…" The bald man commented, his tone back to the usual boredom it held like toasting a man's central system was no big deal.

John hated him for that, but his mind too nervy to think clearly could only let him be freaked out by he hand pushing on his cheek so his head would be pressed still, afraid of an hand that could, by a slight touch, cause so much pain and roast his brain to death… They could not do that, could they? They needed him alive, plus he could not die this way only because some people were scared of their advanced technology! Wait, he could not possibly be _afraid_ like this, not him! It was all because of his mixed up mind that was still swimming… and because of the mother-banger Mr. Clean, Sheppard protested mentally… At least he was able to contain this protest this time; he had to anyway or else that would count for the Bad guys: 2-1 …

Where was his team anyway?...

The bald captor did not add anything else, still pressing the colonel's head firmly against de chair, waiting maybe. Sheppard head was now back to its awful pounding –the headache ten times worst if it was possible- and soon his neck became sore from the strain and the twist that was painfully forcing it into this awkward position.

And the dizziness, the faintness, seemed to quickly win he fight over him; the beads of sweat on his brow and the serious discomfort and painful weakness of his limbs and every muscles of his body being the only remains of the adrenaline surge he had with the shock.

He became less tense and slightly more sluggish –half unwillingly but also part desired since he felt so worn-out now– while the entire room could have look still: no one moved… no one spoke…

At least not until Sheppard slumped a little bit more in this chair, his breath slower yet again uneven and momentarily becoming some faint gasps as he was trying to get rid of the queasiness by compulsively swallowing: then the bald man slowly took pressure off the colonel's head, releasing him carefully… The Atlantis' CO could not help but think that his captor only waited for him to shiver down, as people use to do to discipline and calm down a reluctant pet as they are training it: make sure it cannot move and stay this way until the animal understand that being combative is a mistake… That thought could have made him sick… or was it because of the concussion?...

No, he thought: he was neither a pet nor too shaken to think; he had to find a way out of this situation… and fast!

John tried to move on the seat into a prouder and more glorious position, just to make sure he would not lose this fight even if his body seemed to be slowly shutting down. He had to say something; he _had_ to snap at this other man! So he did it:

"I see y'enjoying y'rself pretty much right now… Is that why you kidnapped me: to watch me rub my face on a chair with y'r dear fiends? How pathetic s'that! Y'didn't even bring pop-corn!" He said and scoffed at his enemy.

But then it hit him: he was slurring _a wee bit_, but he still was!… Ok, that was bad, that could quickly count as a victory for his captors: he uncomfortably shifted a little bit in his chair; trying to clear his throat the more silently he could; as if all his was helping him staying alert… In fact, moving was only making his headache more sweltering and debilitating. For a moment he missed the moment just before doing so since, now, his vision was slightly greying and the world was making no sense.

When his vision swan a little less at last, Shepard regretted the fact he had missed Mr Clean's reaction, but he realized he probably lost a few minutes in his confused daze: two goons dressed in the generic brown uniform were installing a kind of large wooden chest -except there was not so deep and large shelves instead of the drawers- a few feet from him. There were two shelves: the upper one painted in red and the lower one plainly unpainted; on the upper one remained a few slate tiles, maybe tree of them, John could not tell since his vision was not too good right now, and on the lower one there were just too many of them to count. The colonel could not help but think: what the hell it means?! while watching carefully the new furniture…

"Now I want you to consider our next little game… the rules are simple: an answer pleasing to hear and you could be rewarded by the removal of one point from your score…"

Began the captor, his voice nearly startling the colonel; and as he mentioned this removal, he gestured toward that wooden display stand. As a demonstration, one of his guards reached for one of the shelves, the one in red, and took a slate tile to place it on the shelf right under. That system was used to count those _points_ quite certainly; the fact good behaviour was rewarded by losing a point probably meant each of those slates standing for _points_ were for a punishment he could avoid. In fact, Sheppard thought, this weird wooden thing must be a kind of abacus… or maybe more one of those board displaying the score at a baseball game…

The caveman-like hired hands moved the tile back to where it was on its red shelf as the bald man kept on explaining on his usual dull tone:

"As for mutiny, lies or sharp replies, you will gain one point every time I judge your answer was not satisfying enough or too slow to come…"

As to show this, the guard took a slate from the several bunches on the lower shelf to move it on the red one… And since it seemed here was an unlimited amount of slates on the lower shelf, it meant Mr Clean had in mind to be quite strict with his points dispensing, and if a point stood for something really bad for the colonel…

Sheppard had to concentrate in order to hold a gulp and the shiver that threatened to run down his spine. The punishment for being smug; he had an idea of what it could be: probably Mr Clean/Mr Electric Eel's special and painful asset…

Was his team alright? If so, could they make it fast to gather the rescue: he would really appreciate being the one to be saved this time…

Talking about _this time, _the guard did not replaced the tile he moved –the kind of "you'll be ass-kicked" token- on the red shelf –the "you might be spared" shelf- … but no one seemed to care enough or to notice that _mild_ mistake. They did it on purpose, Sheppard's addled mind complained.

"The upper board can held up to seven slates at the time and once it has reached its maximum, you will be punished for your amount of points: pairs of tile mean one of my neuralgic jolts and one single tile means a physical abuse given by my men."

The bald man explained with his voice so dull that, as the captor was motioning toward his muscular guards to show which men he was talking about, the colonel wondered what could possibly be so boring in torturing people: usually assholes of his kind enjoys it!

"In addition, we will clear your board every 3 minutes according to the number of tiles you collected…"

The captor added and it was only then that Atlantis's CO noticed the small device made of glass hat stood on the chest of drawers, probably some kind of clock… Even with the pain in his neck from the way he had been held against the headrest, Sheppard could not bit back a sharp mocking comment, no mater how much his brain seemed to be crushed by the headache or sluggish from the concussion, no mater if he knew maybe it was not a sensible decision this time:

"So much trouble and rules for'n'_unnecessary_ interrogation! Y'bastards n'ver learn that simple things're th'most effectives ones…"

…And also: simple traditional torture methods were physical, the fact Sheppard was known for his exceptional self-control over pain being a plus for him… But when it was psychological, when it was all about expecting the suffering no matter what you do, and when the pain induced was so disturbing, it was no as easy… Could he manage the pressure and the anxiety it caused?...

The room became silent again, except for the rhythmic clicking of the clock and the colonel decided he should try to throw a smug look at his captors, including the brainless brutes. Slowly -since sudden movements were now all hurting his abused muscles- the colonel rotated his head a little more just in time to see through the haze of his brain one of the guards placing another tile on the red shelf…

At this moment, a soft and unreal chiming cut through the tense silence and I took John a few seconds to realize I was coming from the little clock on the wooden board, as if this ringing was an alarm… What?! I already made 3 minutes?! It couldn't be!

"Good, right in time! Now let us see how many points you have collected… mmmm… Five! That is not a very fine score for a first time, but we will have to do with it…" The bald man said and, as he rarely did, smiled in a way that could be really creepy if you look at it long enough…

"I only earned one of those…" Mumbled Sheppard with consternation, testing carefully his restrains but only succeeding at jarring the sore and aching muscles of his body.

Mr. Electric Eel kind of ignored the comment and the unfairness of the situation, already getting closer to the SGA1's leader with a feral smile. Damn: the bald guy was going to start with the nerve roasting, thought Sheppard; realizing as well that, after two more of this shocks, whatever the guards will chose to do with their right to beat the crap out of him, it will be even harder to stand with his already exhausted and utterly aching body…

Damn! And it was so hard to think now that the room seemed half erased, remote, slightly spinning in a sickening motion… It had crept back on Sheppard, the mud jamming his neurones, the soreness harming as well, and he barely noticed before it was too late. He hated to admit it, but maybe a second electroshock could startle him enough so his adrenalin and accelerated blood flow could clear his mind and get rid of the fog obscuring it… After all, to escape, he had to be conscious and alert enough to walk and run for it by his own… Damned headache, damned nausea, damned stiff limbs and triply damned bald sadistic asshole with no hair!

When his captor's hand reached for him, Sheppard could not help but recoil, though unable to go very far fastened as he was… The so dreaded fingers made contact with his forehead as it launched its just as much dreaded attack… to the Colonel, it seemed to ignite fiercely every single nerve of his being in a chaotic storm of agony, his muscles painfully spasming even harder than it did before, so much he could not hold a chocked cry. It was an eternity of suffering, as if his bones were being crushed and clawed by furious bears, as if the contact of air on his skin was burning him like acid… and the utter pain of uncontrolled and cruel muscle contractions so hard the chair shook…

**TBC**

**And do not be afraid to comment, uh? **


	2. Chapter 2

...

But when the captor removed his hand, the colonel kept convulsing a second or two.

And when the shock ceased to directly affect his nervous system, Sheppard was still shaking uncontrollably; he was panting really fast, his hands clenching and unclenching the armrests of the chair; his eyes wild and unfocused eying around with panic; his mind was paralysed by the too great affluence of pain signals; his body so tense and his nerves so abused it felt he was about to rip from the inside...

This secondary effect seemed to last forever and he screw his eyes shut, unable to hold a chocked groan anymore as it felt as if his entire being was throbbing, every heartbeat sending knifing pain in his whole still shuddering body. There was nothing else in this universe but his abused nerves about to be ruined; even his eyes seemed useless.

And nausea seemed to become even worst –with all the cramps that had upset his stomach, with the electroshock that overran his brain- leading the colonel into shifting restlessly in his chair and into an even faster panting in order to make sure he would not simply throw up his last meal. Although the man compulsively gagged as the disturbed muscles in his throat twitched, giving the man the cruelly lasting feeling he was truly being sick on the moment, so much he turned his head to his side and bend down the much he could toward the dusty floor to dry heaved for a few minutes.

In this moment of agony and misery -his mind just losing track from all this suffering happening at the same time- Sheppard was convinced he would be dying right on place, in this awful chair, with the damned bald asshole hovering proudly nearby; he could not take it anymore.

When the muscles of his digestive system eased off a little from exhaustion, Atlantis's CO slumped on the chair; shivering, battered, hiccupping, still panting, cut off from his surrounding.

Has he really been sick? … Maybe… No: the metallic tasting liquid in his mouth was blood… his _own_ blood? He probably bit his tongue hard enough, but did not distinguish this feeling among so many aches. He had to find a way to get out of this place, but it seemed so impossible and futile, just like the thought that barely came to him that someone could come and save the man he was.

The worst was: for all the endless minutes Sheppard was trying to regain control over his own body, his captor watched him silently, waiting to be sure his prisoner was able to focus on him again before keeping on: after all, there still was another neural attack to come plus something else only the cavemen-looking goons could fancy.

Many times the clock rang, but at least there was no more tiles on the red shelf except the three _points_ to go.

"Are you still with us, stranger? It is not over yet and I still have to begin interrogating you…" A dull voice said, muffled by the ringing in Sheppard's ears –though this sound was not the alarm from the clock this time- and the pounding in his head.

Gosh! How much the lt. colonel wanted to rip the bald guy's tongue from his mouth! Maybe if he just ignored that bastard he would… _disappear_ or something, or get annoyed and leave him there so he could sleep a bit. That would piss Mr Clean off if his prey would just faint –or at least Sheppard could act as if he was unconscious- and keep him from enjoying the torture. Or maybe John could pretend that the last jolt toasted his brain for good… Ok, that possibility was too dreadful and frightening to even think about since it could quite possibly happen.

He could hear the voices of those enemies he didn't even know their names, but his mind had hard time trying to understand what was being said: John just focused on managing the lingering pain, the involuntary trembling and the slight spasms, keeping his eyes shut and trying to enjoy braving his captor.

Where was the adrenalin rush he hoped for anyway: it was supposed to be the key for his escape!

He tested his restrains once again, but was really disappointed to find that even bracing his arm in order to pull on the rope was asking for too much strength from his limbs. Sheppard faintly cracked open one eye to peer at his wrists: ok, they were still attached to his body, but there were red smears on his skin.

Did he shred his skin raw while the electroshock was wrecking havoc with his nerves? He closed his eye quickly: the sight of blood oddly worsened his nausea… or was it only the fact he was trying to focus, think and make sense of things with the hell of a headache he had?

"Wake him up, that will count as his physical abuse…"

Were the words that suddenly caught John's attention: he nearly shot his eyes open with alarm and he surely held his breath. Ok, what to do now: act as if, oh miracle!, he was awake all out of a sudden and doing well enough to be spared by the guards, but that meant the bastard Mr. Clean could immediately keep on with short-circuiting his nerves…

But if he still acted as if he was unconscious, he would be beaten up or something just as bad –because: what else can the cavemen-looking guard do?- and no matter how skilful he was for acting, they will quickly know he was not out cold… Wait, maybe that was the plan: he will pretend to be harmless, the guards will unfastened him or something and then Sheppard will take them by surprise and get rid of them!

Still here was that tiny voice in his mind ha told him his plan was silly; that he was too weak to move and would be unable to beat four large ruffians… But as concussion adds up with his usual stubbornness, Sheppard decided to ignore what could possibly harm him. So he braced himself and waited for the right moment.

Yeah, this time it will count as a point, but no a punishable one: it will be Good Guys: 2 and Bad Guys: 1…. And unfortunately it was already a score of 54 for his headache, plus the fog gaining ground on his mind, and 0 for him…

However, it hit him; his plan had a serious flaw: what if they do _not_ unfastened him? Speaking of which, something else hit him and this time and it was way worst: the colonel did not hear them coming closer, but he surely felt the fist connecting with his midsection, forcing his eyes opened wide from the surprise and shock as well as forcing all the air out of his lungs. He struggled against his restraints to impulsively bend in half to relieve his abdominals and guts, but it did not work so well, leaving him instead even more suffocating and winded. Coughing did not help either to shoo away the stars and the flashing dots taking over his vision, nor the renewed pain in all his muscles that the sudden movement awoke.

And after what seemed hours with the breath knocked off him, he managed to suck in enough air: "Huuh Sonofa…bitch!" Sheppard growled with a hoarse and strained voice through clenched teeth, coughing again and swallowing compulsively to fight his rebellious stomach.

Yet he suddenly went quieter when he met his captor's creepy and pale unmoving eyes scrutinizing him carefully. So the colonel tried to hold back the coughs starting in his chest –only succeeding at making it look like he was hiccupping- to glower at the bald man with all the hate he could show in only one look.

"You are awake now… It is inauspicious that your specie is much weaker than I expected: I will have to revise my calculation on the amount of hours you will be lasting before being irreparably damaged by our little game." The captor said and by the as usual so monotonous tone of his voice, Atlantis's CO could only wonder if the bald man could feel any emotion.

"Oh…because you have some sort of math'matical formula especially for this?" Sheppard could not hold this sharp and ironic comment, though he could not force his voice to look less lethargic, husky and faint.

"I warn you, if you keep on answering this way, I will add tiles even if your board was not in the first place cleared." Mr Electric Eel simply said; and did not look threatening even if he was purely serious.

John frowned and did not answered immediately, wondering if he was really understanding what has been said; after all, his brain was still suffering from the tremendous blow he had straight to his temple, where the skull is thinner.

Ok, he was getting it; thinking in this haze kind of hurt, but he found the tricky detail in Mr Clean's menace.

"That… you add some now or later, what's the damn diff'rence anyway, you'll still beat me up with no reason at all!" The colonel tried to snap, but how he hated the fact it was not as impressive as it used to be when he was not aching all over!

"There is a reason; it is for the sake of my people and maybe even it will lead us into a technological development that could be very helpful for us. You cannot keep the secret of your weapons and devices only for you and the others that came through the Silver Ring of the Stars…" The captor answered and it took Sheppard a few seconds to realize the bald one was mentioning the Stargate in a very out of ordinary way.

"You took my gears, right, but the int…trogg… the _interrogation_ part is kinda lame…" John chuckled weakly and answered sluggishly even if he tried in vain concentrating on a normal pronunciation.

Oh, crap: things were looking even more blurred and his vision seemed to be restrained to the little that was twirling right in front of him…

"The questions will come in time, when I will have curbed your riotous nature." The captor simply said.

"You know what? I'll probably die before ya could even _dream_ of doing prog…ress this way!" Sheppard retorted, chuckling slightly even if it was in a strained way, and thought his voice sounded strange; he did not know if it was his slurring or the fact his hearing was muffled…

"Then you will suffer."

The colonel wanted to bitterly laugh at his captor's words; he wanted to point out that usually it was the point when you are torturing someone and keep on humiliating the bald man, but the whole game turned out differently. In fact, the alien man decided to show a little bit more of what he was talking about: he gave a vicious open palm punch straight to Sheppard's forehead; not only knocking badly his already injured head against the headrest, but also sending another of his cruel electroshock.

The poor man's body tensed so painfully and suddenly that his back arched even with his limbs tied down; unable to control any of his burning and agonising muscles, his nerves seeming to burn and rip all his fresh open while doing so… Sheppard let out a short strangled cry as he shook.

But about immediately after the bald man started shocking his captive, the suffering was so intense on the already battered and worn out injured man, that darkness seemed to finally claim him: the colonel quickly lost the fight and lost consciousness, still convulsing even when his eyes rolled upward in his skull.

He did not have time to think or to try to resist: his brain was already overwhelmed by the alarm signal his body was sending him all at once and chaotically…

The oxygen entirely left his lungs in a shaky sigh; he shook; his heart shuddered one last time before his entire system shut down. Definitively a point for the bad guys…

* * *

Shit, he was drowning: the awful pressure on his entire chest as if tons of water were compressing him, his inability to breathe in!!

He tried to move and to fight for his life, but there was only the dire cold and the utter pain in his entire body that were trapping him like an iron maiden… He had to know where the surface was, he had to swim back up, but everything was so dark!

His eyes, he could open them! So he did, but instead of the darkness of deep sea, he could only see a pale, but thick and brownish haze before him, along with black dots flashing around… Oh, he was no underwater… but why did he felt damp and frozen and suffocating?

What was worst: feeling as if his skull was shattered to pieces and piercing through his brain, or everything else that made him doubt he had anything as a carcass beside the agony fire shooting in every nerves… No time to think –and not enough energy and his mind was not clear enough anyway- he had to breathe… Sheppard tried to roll on his side with a miserable and faint groan that seemed to irritate his throat; as if it could relieves him from this oppressing pressure on his chest; though it was not only making the ache in his body worst, but it awoke a knifing pain right in his ribs where the strain seemed to be… and his arms and legs -his whole body in fact- only seemed to quiver epileptically; nearly unresponsive.

He man gave up on moving much, but rolling back to his lying position jarred his battered muscles and worsened the stabbing feeling. Paralysed and shocked by additional pain signals, he finally took a sharp compulsive intake of breath halfway between a panicked hiccupping shaky gasp and the choked gurgle of someone drowning.

However, he surely regretted it immediately as the acute piercing pain in his ribcage spiked with the movement; he even managed to gain enough control on his shaky limbs to sluggishly wrap his arms around his chest to secure whatever was hurting as hell. Shallow panting was all he could do for several minutes following this lousy attempt, but again he could barely think of something else than the cruel soreness as all the important matters were blocked by the thick fog of confusion.

He did not want to move, he only wanted his breathing to ease and the pain to vanish, in vain. He was staring at the sky above him, or the ceiling, or whatever I was; it did not matter, it was too blurred and unimportant right now. He was shivering and shaking, sometime unwillingly gasping or hiccupping… maybe also twitching from the jitteriness his nerves and muscles showed, he could not tell… Why was this place and the floor under him so cold, why were his fingers tingling, why were his limbs so heavy, where was this headache coming from… why was his chest hurting so much?...

Sheppard's hands shook with hesitation –or probably more because of the weakness- as he slowly lifted one arm from his torso and slipped the hand under his t-shirt -the tag vest has been removed hours ago anyway- to cautiously probe the skin of his chest. Yet he quickly found out, and hissed of pain because of that discovery, that the area above his heart was very tender.

He shot his eyes open –how could he not remember closing them?- in alarm as a few memories from the past hours flooded his mind in disjointed waves: electric shocks, painful ones… torture maybe? He thought maybe he already had his headache back then…

And he could remember some words that sounded very important… _points_? It was not making any sense until he remembered feeling threatened by the damaging effects of the painful… _things_ someone did to him. So maybe he was dead, or maybe the electroshocks burned him… on the chest?! No: he remembered a pale hand going for his head, but not for his chest…

His skin was tender and his ribs on the left side –two of them at he heart level- seemed broken or cracked, hurting very badly at least. Sheppard's mind was sluggish and confused so, again, he had to try to make sense of things and to try to forget about the sound throbbing in his head…

A punch could have caused this? No: the one he received connected with his midsection and that is a bit too low to injure his ribcage…

Definitively something with his heart then. That was bad wasn't it? Except if he had been given CPR or something, but in this case, why would he need it… why would the people caring about his life leave him lying alone on the hard and cold ground?

And it seemed to him he could not remain on the floor and waste time watching the ceiling and groaning softly at the pain… Yep: even with a screwed up brain, Sheppard still had some part of his mind recalling surviving skills.

So the colonel took the deepest breath his cruelly aching ribs would allow him to take and tried again to roll on his side, very very carefully; keeping his head from moving the more he could to keep his vision from greying out because of the concussion. And slowly, the man shifted his weight; his body being a mass of pure ankylosis and soreness so much John felt as if he spend days and nights doings push-ups and jumping-jacks without even taking a single breather…

At last he was done and lying on his flank, hands clutched to his chest to secure his ribs, holding his breathe: the floor was too hard for his bony frame, his vision was blurred and quite limited because of the black dots dancing before his eyes, his stomach seemed to be angrily protesting the new position with waves of nausea, the odd fool taste in his mouth did not help… and his head was swimming and the headache was even worst!... Did it count as an attempt to escape or did he really need to stand up and explore the room in which he was?... So much for a stupid question: of course it did not count staying sprawled on the floor! But at the same time, was he able to even stand up?...

However, just as he was finally considering trying, -though before he did try anything for real- he felt something gripping firmly each of his arms and pulling abruptly and brutally; so much that whatever or whoever was holding him quickly lifted him -just like a rag doll with useless limbs and the head too foggy to understand what was happening- enough from the ground to make him stand in a poor upright position. Even if it was what he planned to do in a way, Sheppard was far from being grateful at this moment: right when he left the floor, his head started to swim even more, his vision almost went completely black, but, most of all, his abused stomach began to protest the very sudden change of equilibrium…

And as the moment before John felt frozen, now it seemed heat was flooding him all out of sudden along with the tremendous wave of nausea taking over all his senses, and the few fairly clear thoughts he still had. Instinctively, the colonel tried to curl and go down on his hands and knees, so much he felt as if his body would literally throw out his whole stomach, the only thing he wanted at this moment was to black out again, or even to know his heart was going to fail again and end this agony. The ceiling and the floor seemed to be rolling like waves on the sea during a frightening storm, just as sickening as well.

He was miserable: and not only was he only dry heaving without relieving the sickening queasiness -yet only spiking the headache and the soreness in all his body to an unimaginable level- but in addition the strong hands were not letting him go, only clutching his arms with more strength to keep the colonel upright. Damn!

The colonel wasn't even sure if he could still use his legs so much they felt weak; after all, every time he tried to bear a little of his own weight, he was stumbling and would have certainly felt ungracefully on the hard ground if it wasn't of the two guards at his side… Yeah, they were _the_ guards: he could tell from their generic corny nondescript uniforms, the only think he could make sense out of it right now.

He tried to fight the caveman-like men, yet it was quite faintly since his brain was part confused, part numbed by the pain and only slightly aware he could not remain inactive. Ronon would have already found a way out if he was in the same situation, Teyla as well… though maybe not Rodney, except if he can get very lucky that suddenly.

As he was wondering through the haze in his mind, someone stepped right before him; so much his poor vision could only be barely focused on this person.

« You should know that what you are doing is vain and that your upper digestive system can not empty itself anymore: you pathetic being already soiled my interrogation room shortly after I revived you… for that you will start again our little game with one tile for your punishment. »

A dull voice said, and Sheppard immediately recalled the bastard with eerie fish eyes that was holding him captive. He fought to lift his head, fought against the churning of his stomach and the awful uncontrolled spasms that were worsening the knifing pain in his chest and all the stiff muscles in his whole body; having the vague intention to stare angrily at this bald man he wanted dead more than anyone else.

It wasn't so easy, and he wasn't even sure he was looking at the right man since his vision was so blurred… no, he could not be mistaken by the bald man's uniform; something just as ugly as what the others were wearing, except in a kind of pale color Sheppard decided to call "dead old rotting salmon" pink.

The colonel thought at this moment that it seemed he was always attracting the worst psychos in the galaxy…

**TBC **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: And my fic wasn't inspired by obsessed1's latest one ("Trust") 'cause I started writing mine before reading obsessed1's… I have no real proof, only maybe if I refer you to older fics I wrote and posted where some details can get similar to some parts of my "It Does Count" fic (the one you're reading right now :P ) **

**And I'm pretty sorry: I said this chapter would come fast and was going to be the last one, but it took a little bit too much time to write and the story got a bit longer than I thought... So this is not the last chapter, another one will come soon with this time the real end **

**so, yeah sorry again for the numbers of weeks it took :S**

It only took a light jab to his chest and right where the bruised muscle and broken ribs were to jolt him awake with a choked yelp, a yelp that blurted out before the pain knocked the air out of his lungs. Though it was doing quite well to send a wave of knifing agony through his body… Shepard's hazel eyes shot open but remained unfocused as -being extremely disoriented and confused- he seriously wondered when did he fall asleep anyway… Maybe he blackouted?

Once his breathing settled and the awful pain in his chest became a little less excruciating, the colonel tried to make sense of his blurred and muffled surroundings: some voices he could not understand, an ugly orange-pink shape was standing in front of him and, he was sure of this thing, he was not standing up all by himself as his legs hanged limply under him. Iron grips on him to keep him upward as well.

Where was he again? What were those silhouettes? What happened anyway?

"What the hell's goin'on?"

John could only express out loud his confusion with this very slurred, hoarse and weak answer –was _that_ his real voice?! How strange I sounded!-; trying pathetically to look around and put a little bit of his weight on his feet while frowning.

"Your weakness would disgust me if I was not a man of sense and sciences, a man caring about what should be done for the sake of my people…" The hairless figure before him said on a flat tone.

Sheppard felt discouraged realizing he had so much trouble trying to follow everything that was being said, only wanting to drop his head, to rest his chin on his chest and let the darkness of unconsciousness claim him once more. Everything that could ease his hell of a headache.

Though, the bald man standing in front of him decided he could not let his prey get away that easily with it: Mr. Clean reached for his ribcage and, again, pressed right on the spot where the alien knew he did some damages hours ago. We must know that the alien had heard bones cracking when he had to revive the human with his electroshocks while pressing to the captive's chest. But right now, the effects were immediate and the man he captured jolted and cried right away, before trying desperately yet weakly to free himself from the two guards holding him on his feet.

"Do not let him fall asleep ever again, at least not until we are done with him… And you, bring me the points board!"

The captor commanded his goons before approaching even more the injured man. One of those guards that were not currently holding Sheppard walked out the room. Mr. Clean grabbed the colonel's jaw none too gently and forced him to look straight into his unmoving eyes; before saying:

"You know you can still lose the points that speak of future punishments if you behave properly… I am reminding you because I doubt you will last several additional hours if you keep on the way you started…"

Sheppard swallowed compulsively and tried to shy his head away from his captor's grip, though the words were slowly being processed by his brain: he hardly remembered being in pain every time he was being smug and defiant, and of course he did not want to suffer all this once more… Does it count if he only remained silent? As if he was conscious enough to think of something appropriate as an answer to a sick questioning anyway...

"I assume you understand what I am saying. So let's start with the interrogation right away, we cannot waste any more time: the objects you used were weapons, we saw you and your friends killing some of my men with it… Where did you find those so powerful weapons?" The bald man began asking.

Weapons? The P90s he meant? Sheppard had some flash of memories: his team and he were running for the 'gate as some primitive looking men hidden in the forest were shooting crossbow bolts looking projectiles at them from behind the tree line. Right. And then he probably was knocked hard on the head.

But this memory also explained, to a confused Sheppard suffering from a nasty concussion, why his captor was so found of SGA1's technologies… They needed beter thing than primitive sticks and what the human explorers had looked just right.

The guards shook John like a rag doll as he was going to lost consciousness again without even noticing it… It startled the colonel quite a lot as his vision slightly cleared on the bald man's face.

"Where did you find your weapons…" The captor growled…

Oh yeah, thought Sheppard, that was what they were asking him! The colonel faintly shook his head but Mr. Clean would not release his jaw from his too tight hold. Damn, anyway,he considered woozily answering, slurring and drawling when he finaly did so:

"S'meone gave it to me I guess…"

"Who gave it to you?" The bald man asked.

"I… uh… I don't r'member his name…" Sheppard answered slowly, frowning as he was trying hard to think and remember clearly; far from realizing he was going less coherent and lucid.

"_His_ name?!..." Exclaimed the captor.

"Yeah 'cause he's a new guy at the armory, I didn't have enough time t'learn his name…" Explained John, fighting to keep his eyelids open…

Damn his head ached and he was starting to lose the sensation in his arms since the guards holding him upright were gripping him too forcefully.

Close to them, the guard that left came back and set the wooden chest of drawers like furniture, its shelves facing the colonel.

"I meant: what people or what superior civilization gave it to your team!... Ah, it does not matter… Where are your people located? What address shall we enter in the Silver Ring of the Stars to find them?" The bald man nearly lost his cool in front of a divagating man, but quickly kept on his interrogation.

Sheppard did not answered: he had that feeling, something that was telling him he could not possibly tell such a thing to any stranger. He was confused, seriously confused and dizzy, but again there was still some sense lying deeply under the mud and the fog in his mind… He flinched as a wave of pain caught him when he tried to take a deep breath, but he would never give up and tell the alien anything:

"Add me a point…" He simply muttered; giving the feeling he became slightly more lucid suddenly.

"Excuse me?!"

"The tiles… you can already add me a point: I won't answer this…" The colonel repeated and slightly slurred, though he was determined to not reveal anything he felt he should not, no matter if he had hard time remembering why he should not, in fact…

For what seemed to be an eternity for the colonel -since holding his gaze up into his captor's eyes alone was cruelly spiking his pounding headache- the bald man and the one with wild dark hair stared at each other: the injured one trying to show he will not give up, and the other one probably scheming the fastest he could to find out how he should react.

Yeah, dizzily thought Sheppard, he was clearly thwarting the man's evil calculation and methodical torture system; that itself meant another point for the good guys, but not the kind of point that mean punishment, but the kind that… never mind… John knew what he meant by thinking this and that was the only thing that mattered right now, this and defying Mr. Clean that sucker. And also to not tell anything he felt he should keep to himself.

Though his mind was wandering as if it refused to follow a straight line or pattern, and soon he found himself wondering about the fact he forgot why he seemed to be trying to gain some more time: was he waiting for something?

Yet he had to leave this question for now; something drew him back to the present moment quite brutally: well, in fact, when two muscular brutes start to press firmly on your shoulders and squeeze your trapezius –which is in fact not only painful but a little bit paralyzing as well- to force you to get down on your knees on the floor, it kinds of snap you back to reality easily.

So Sheppard grunted and barely tried to fight as he was forced to kneel in front of his captor… Maybe the bald man commanded something particular to his guards while the colonel was shortly out of it…

Then the Atlantis's CO felt a large hand gripping his hair and pulling forcefully his head back until his throat was exposed, Sheppard being too weakened to resist. Were they going to slit his throat like butchers do with pigs? His puzzled mind and abused brain could not process efficiently all what was happening, and it was only when he tasted a new foul taste and felt something dry and leathery on his tongue that John realised with shock that the guards forced something in his mouth…

He opened wild eyes, trying to fight with the little strength he had or to spit out that thing in his mouth, but the goons pulled on the thing and when they let it go, Sheppard realised it still was gagging him… Damn, they gagged him with a belt or something like this didn't they?! His angry protests –that would have surely been slurred anyway- were too muffled to be heard and trying to pull free or to bite down the leather belt was useless…

As if John's weak struggle was annoying them, the guards suddenly pushed him forward and brutally tackled him to the ground, flat on the stomach, his arms still pulled back. That sure threatened to knock him out cold the injured man because of the shock to his brain the movement caused, but also by putting weight on his injured ribs. All he could see was shooting stars, he thought he could not breathe at all anymore and all he could feel –but the knifing twinge in his chest- and hear was the painful throbbing in his skull… Yes: it was so overwhelming he thought he could _hear_ his head hurting at every heartbeat…

Or maybe it was the blood pumping in his ears he could hear, it was hard to tell.

Were they going to chop his head off? Perhaps, it will be less excruciating being dead, no? No, no he can' get killed! Ok, it was a _very_ dumb question in he first place.

"Pick the left one… Make sure you replace the bone in the socket, or else we will not be able to move him anymore without doing much more damages…"

A voice, sounding so far away even if he knew it was not, said calmly. Although something sounded really dreadful in this command, so much Sheppard paralysed a short moment and tried to make sense of this. There was that sense of alert that was making his heart beat so hard he thought it would jolt his injured ribs even more.

Yet it seemed Mr. Clean was out to win the set by many points for the bad guys as it seemed he would not let his captive get away with those sharp replies. In fact, John felt the hands on him tightening on his arms, some others keeping his legs and his body flat on the floor as other guards joined the two others.

Then the hands on his arms moved slightly on his left: a caveman-like guard relieved the pressure on the upper arm as the second holding the lower arm began to pull on it backward until it started to twinge a little…

And they finally executed Mr. Electric Eel's dreadful choice of punishment: the one pulling on the arm suddenly did it even more brutally and at this moment, the second guard that released his grip not so long ago gave a harsh push right on Sheppard left scapula… They could all hear the sickening and muffled "clok!" quickly followed by a muted cry of agony from the gagged colonel.

They did it; they dislocated his shoulder only because their leader wanted so, only because the captive snapped back. That brutality would disgust many of his Marines...

The CO tried to twist, groaned, tried to shout and curl on the ground, fretfully trying to escape from the hands holding him flat against the dusty floor with this rush of adrenalin. He was blinded, deafened and unable to think because the pain in his now completely irresponsive left limb.

Did they tear off his entire arm? Because it surely felt like it; and he barely passed out when once more they pulled on his limb while holding in place his shoulder. Sheppard felt his bone moving again and going back into its socket, but it did not subdue much the knifing pain in his shoulder as, once more, he let out a sharp yelp, shocked by so much aching at once.

Did he pass out? He probably went close to this dark abyss: he barely noticed the fact he was released then, or the fact the guards retracted and backed off a little bit, staring at the shivering body on the floor that was faintly trying to roll on its back while clasping dearly his abused limb. Yes, it was about all he could recall: he was now lying on his back restlessly stirring and twitching, wincing and clenching his jaw as he was waiting for the pain to ease a little.

At least he could still clench his left fist, meaning they did not damaged any nerves while cruelly playing with his shoulder, but that alone would spike the pain in his entire arm and nearly draw tears to the man's eyes. And taking deep breathes was also impossible because of his other injuries, as if it was not enough already…

Sheppard felt as if he spent days like this, tense from trying to hold back the pain, before his mind could process a little bit more than this agony: slowly, carefully, he let go his injured limb to reach clumsily for his leathery gag. His hand was shaking as he took it off his mouth; he cough a little and gasped for air, hoarsely whimpering, then quickly secured back his injured arm.

He was about oblivious to his surrounding for a few more minutes.

One of the guards removed the leather belt probably in case the man wanted to use it as a weapon somehow. Still, he could not care less right now since fighting the overwhelming pain seemed more important. He had to fight it, or else he felt the pain was going to drive him sick once more, even with his stomach already emptied.

Something suddenly fell on the floor just beside his head and, when he was slowly and dizzily dragging his attention on the thing beside him a boring voice started to talk. Though the pilot could not help but noticed the thing was a tile. _Where __does __that __comes __from__?!_ His fogged mind wondered. _Oh, yeah, the abacus!_

"I hope you will understand soon that you cannot keep on this way; you will simply die in a very slow and unbearable way. This recent injury should remind you that I am serious and that you need to know I am ready to execute any other punishments if it rewards me with the needed information."

Mr. Clean paused, but Sheppard only answered by a pained but frustrated groanso the bald man kept on:

"I will ask you again: what is the address to your homeland? Which symbols?"

Homeland? Damn, he wanted so much to be back there… no, not Earth, but Atlantis, Atlantis sounds more like home… When did it become so in his mind? Good question; his mind wasn't clear enough to ponder on that much longer. Yet he was sure of two things: he missed this sweet giant city-like Ancient outpost and he wanted his team to be alright.

Alright, but there to get him out of this cell. And he also wanted Mr Clean _dead_! Yeah, dead with that bastard's very own slate tiles breaking his jaw and skull! We'll see if he still enjoy counting this way after_ that_…

Ok that makes more than two things… Whatever.

However, by letting his thoughts wander this way, an idea struck him hard: they knew nothing about Earth technology; they only knew that what fired on them were weapons, but how could they know about the rest of his military gears? So he could pretend he needed _something_ from his equipment they took away from him. He could tell them he needed the so called _something_ in order to remember the address; even if he will never tell them about it anyway, _if only_ he could remember it clearly…

Overall: it sounded like a good idea!

But what could he need right now to escape?

Water, yes: he wanted his canteen to wash away the awful taste of the leather belt; he was so thirsty suddenly…

No no no! Sheppard shook faintly his head in disapprobation with his very own thoughts –and regretted it when the slight movement threatened to knock him out cold- realising there was not real use to drink right now…

He was stopped brutally in his considerations when a foot unexpectedly nudged at his injured shoulder, sending wave of utter pain all along his arm and chest. Sheppard cried out and tried to roll on his side, planning to move on his hands and knees before getting up. But his attempt miserably failed, leaving him still flat on his back and only struggling in vain to shift his weight to one side.

It was truly hard to tell which position was going to lessen the pain, if only there was one.

"I will not let you faint again! What are the symbols to your world? Answer me!"

It was the bald man and Sheppard could have been nearly victorious to hear the anger in his tone… does it count as a point for him? In any case, John had just the level of alertness he needed to at last execute his new -and probably messy- plan. The more intelligible he could, since he was just too drained and light-headed now, he replied:

"I… I don't r'member… my head hurts _a lot_…"

"You do not remember?!... " Repeated the captor, as if he could not believe it.

"But I wrote it s'mwhere… s'mwhere on my _stuff_…"

Sheppard kept slurring, trying to get a good look at the man standing over him through the blurred haze of his concussion.

Mr Electric Eel seemed to be considering the possibility a short moment before facing one of the guards still surrounding the injured man. A short moment while John could not help but wince when he tried to suck in a breath a little bit deeper than the others…

"Go gather his equipments…" He simply ordered... and Sheppard was truly smiling inwardly when he understood what just have been said.

**To Be Continued ;P**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapt 4**

**A/N: sorry it took time to write, and I hope the team-scene is not too fluffy or I don't know, I thought it feels good to read lighter matters after such a violent fic, but I can be wrong :S**

**So here's the last chapter:**

Minutes later some of the caveman-like guards came back into the cell room, hands on the vest they took from the colonel when they captured him and on the few items they removed from its pocket in order to try to study those. They dropped it all on the floor near the door and waited while the captor faced back the colonel.

But as he was watching them bringing the items, Sheppard tried to stand up yet only succeeded to roll on his knees with much pain and efforts that kept his head swimming, and he still was clutching tightly his madly abused arm.

"So, on which of your items is it written, stranger?" The bald man asked simply.

Atlantis's CO took some seconds to gather his thoughts and try to think clearly and fast of what to do next. Right, he was able to do it; he was able to keep on with his little game and with this confused look –partially true since he was not doing so well anyway. So he lied:

"I… I must see, I can't tell from here, I don't r'member…"

He slurred and drawled, carefully taking his able hand off the floor to stay to more still he could on his knees. Oh, crap; he was kind of swaying even standing low like this… But at least he will be even more convincing this way.

"Bring him closer." The bald man suddenly commanded his guards, and this time he did not seem to take the time to ponder on the request…

Was the captor getting too confident? That would be a great victory for Sheppard –though he lost track of his counting: was the good guys winning?- and the occasion to manipulate this alien in order, well: in order to escape of course!

Nevertheless, John did not have the possibility to ponder further on that subject: he was brutally gripped by the arms by two strong sets of hairy hands and, before he could even complain or protect his injured shoulder, was as harshly yanked off the floor to his feet.

Of course it was awfully agonizing; the pulling on an already injured limb was so excruciating and sudden the man would have crumbled and sagged to the floor, the jolt of pain flaring into his nerves –in his entire arm and even to the back and chest, and the effects of pulling on broken ribs are not even mentioned- being sufficient to suck all his strengths…. Sufficient to worsen his dizziness as well.

To tell the truth, the very moment the guards started to lift Sheppard's weight, he immediately wailed with agony, choking his cry quickly enough when his sudden limpness surprised both grunts enough to make them drop their captive. Released, Colonel Sheppard slumped again to the ground, threatened even more to fall into unconsciousness, gripping as usual his aching shoulder until his knuckles turned white.

"Be more careful, he won't help us if you distract him so much." The captor's voice told flatly the guards, sounding far away to the human lost on a sea of suffering.

John guessed the _distraction_ referred to hurting the crap out of his already abused shoulder, why not! This was going too far and he had enough of this sick little game, they were idiots, he felt he could not be their punching bag anymore and his head –among other part of his body- hurt like a bitch: it was time to resume acting and get to the point.

Clenching his teeth, the Atlantis's CO carefully sat up once again, tried to dissimulate the fact he was panting and nauseous, and snapped the more intelligible he could:

"You bunch _of_ suck'rs! You can't be careful!" He gulped, closed his eyes a second or two, and then kept on: "I _nno_…I _know_" He paused to sight, frustrated by his own slurring, then tried again: "I _remember_ now where it's written!"

Sheppard could see –when he managed to focus on his enemy- that the lousy M. Clean seemed even more pleased than what he used to show as he faced his captive. Of course he was even more excited knowing he was getting to his goal, just as every bad guy foreseeing their victory and the success of their evil plan to take over the world…

Ok, concussion talking here, John had to concentrate on staying alert.

"Really? Then describe the object to me and we will see." The bald alien said, intensely watching the pilot.

This was his chance, and he thought the faster his fogged brain could before answering, his eyes closed in an effort to concentrate and to forget the headache and the throbbing in his entire being:

"It's… kind of round and hard and… b… black. t'holds in the palm. There were some in m… my TAC vest, the black sleeveless _thing_… »

"You heard him? Find it. » The sadistic alien told his guards, though he did not even take a look at them. His eerie eyes were still on the colonel.

Sheppard held the gaze defiantly, smug to the very end even if he could barely stay still when being sitting on the ground, even with the darkness of unconsciousness seeming so tempting, and even if he knew he was soon going to take the upper hand in this fight when he will have his _secret_ weapon in hands…

Because, of course, he just asked them for his grenades, the ones he decided to bring this mission, not knowing he was going to actually need them. Or maybe he should have asked for his C4? No, maybe not: it was harder to set without being suspected of trying to harm his captors.

Slowly, one of the goons dressed in brown made his way to the pile of gears the others had dropped in front of the only door in his cell room and Sheppard was very tempted to watch him with a victorious gaze. But he remained still to fight the pain and to try to keep himself from fainting, the fact he should maybe think of what exactly he was going to do with the grenades only brushing past his confused mind.

However, out of a sudden, the pilot heard a faint creaking sound and, when he turned his head and finally focused on the guard near the door –that froze when he heard as well- it opened brutally, hitting the follower square in the face. The guard collapsed and Sheppard heard Mr. Electric Eel gasping.

But, as if an attacking door wasn't surprising enough by itself, a flurry of brown -just like a tall biped panther, thought John- jumped into the room and immediately went for the guards.

Another figure came in right then, also attacking the cavemen-like goons and, before the colonel could even understand what was going on, more than half the guards –taken by utter surprise- were knocked unconscious by those two mysterious heroes.

"Teyla?! Ronon?!"

Atlantis's CO exclaimed –and his voice sounded so restrained and weak it was strange- when he understood at last what was going on… Of course he was supposed to understand because the Athosian and the Satedan fighters had taken the remaining goons down by the time Sheppard's brain processed what he was seeing!

Yet again, the surprises where not all already revealed: as John was swaying and struggling to _try_ to get to his feet, the bald captor –realising he was alone and not standing a chance against the rescue party- decided to at last react.

Mr Clean suddenly ran for his captive and, before Ronon could take out his gun, he grabbed the human by the throat in a typical hostage taking posture, squeezing John's bad shoulder to prevent any fight by causing this utter pain.

"Stand back and do not attempt anything against me or to help him! I warn you: being that close to your friend, I could send into his weakened body a strong enough electric bolt to incurably damage his brain, his nerves and his spinal cord in a split second!"

The alien with spooky eyes said out loud, ignoring Sheppard groans and feeble but vain struggle to flinch his injured shoulder away from the iron grasp and the intense pain the pressure caused.

Ronon and Teyla instinctively grabbed their weapon and aimed at the bald man, but none of them shot since they could not risk causing their beloved leader's painful death.

Though they were obviously unhappy with the situation, but even more by the look Sheppard had. The man was very pale; there was dried blood on the side of his head that had flowed as well on his cheek, along his hairline and in his neck; he seemed confused, a bit more panicked than he used to and about to lose consciousness; his eyes were vaguely unfocused; his shoulder was clearly aching and his breathing looked fast and shallow… In addition, those lines of pain on his face were unmistakable and the fact being hurt made him right away oblivious to his surrounding was quite alarming to them.

"He does not look well; we cannot allow it to happen even if this man is telling the truth about his abilities." Emagan subtly told the Satedan and stated; to make sure he was being as careful as she was.

"Get your hands off him and surrender: we control your entire camp, you can't get away." Ronon growled loud enough at the bald man, clearly eager to get rid of the sadistic captor.

"What is going on now; who's the hostage _this time_? I thought you said they still have no real weapons!"

A voice said from the corridor with annoyance but concern as well, and right after another man came in: he probably was listening from outside the room for a while with his two team-mates, but did not attacked when the two warriors broke in and fought hand to hand.

"McKay?..."

Slurred hoarsely the still light headed Sheppard, as it seemed he was finally able to see through the fatigue and the pain that were blinding him and could now consider his surrounding.

That at least reassured the woman and the tall man, but as for the scientist, the sight of his colonel was only scandalizing him. Rodney's eyes widened and his jaw dropped open with shock at John's pathetic stance and look; the Canadian muted for a second or two before he exclaimed with alarm and dismay:

"Oh god, what happened to him?! They had enough time to torture him?! It's…"

"Quiet, all of you!!" Interrupted angrily Mr Clean, already loosing his cool.

The mad alien's skin seemed to slowly turn somehow darker -as if his anger was causing this- as he was slowly stepping aside and going carefully for the door now that he had a _shield_. Hey were getting closer to the giant abacus that has been used to calculate John's deserved punishments, closer to the exit as well. Ronon, Teyla and McKay though were not going not step even closer, afraid it might cause the bald alien to perform his previous sadistic threats.

As for the colonel, he was clawing at the hands holding him and pressing on his injured shoulder -even if those alien hands were the only thing keeping him standing on his feet anyway- now aware he really should help his friends and team in order to rescue himself before the situation would become too catastrophic. That was his fight against his probably severe concussion after all…

"Quiet?! But what are you going to do with him anyway?!" McKay exclaimed with the tone he usually keep for Sheppard when he is too carelessly poking at his scientific equipments in his lab.

As his only answer, Mr Clean squeezed a bit more the abused shoulder and was rewarded by John's telling yelp and recoiling. However, maybe the captor's intentions were to intimidate those threatening him with their guns by forcing them to hear their leader's desperate and hurt cry, but it was also what _triggered_ the colonel, what cleared his mind just enough so he could react on impulse…

In fact, he squirmed and twisted under the firm grip and, using his very last strengths, he turned to face his damned captor and, in a swift gesture, he poked at the alien's eerie fish eyes with only two fingers. Immediately, the bald man let go his prey and shrieked with agony, clasping his probably pierced eyes and backing up as if it could protect him against his rebellious captive.

Of course the pilot was about to surrender to the darkness of unconsciousness now and made an unsteady step or two before collapsing right on place in a boneless heap. He let consciousness leave him at last.

Yet the moment Ronon knew his colonel was away from the threat, he immediately shot at the blinded and howling bald man: the alien was killed instantly when the bullet stroked him on the chest, the impact of the red bolt pushing him backward and sending the body crashing into the tiles rack that was right behind him.

The shelves of this wooden display stand did no hold and soon, no matter if those were points Sheppard earned or not, all the slates shattered on the hard floor, the tiny grey pieces now scattered around the corpse of Mr Clean.

They did not need to stare at the body to know the captor was dead, so they focused on a more important matter. They were all hurrying to meet Sheppard's prone figure, Teyla immediately turning him on his back, already kneeling and starting to assess his injuries. Ronon crouched further behind her, visibly angered to see how bad his colonel has been treated; his fists clenched as if he could not find a way to let off steam. And as for McKay, he was hovering nervously around, trying to get a look at the pilot over Emagan's shoulder, sometime gasping at the blood on the side of his friend's face, protesting on a high pitched and irritating tone.

"John, can you hear me?"

Emagan tried to wake the pilot, softly pressing a comforting hand on his good shoulder, trying to get to him through the abyss of unconsciousness.

"He might quite possibly have a concussion and he maybe broke his collar bone or dislocated his shoulder, telling by how much he seemed in pain when the man was gripping him." She explained to the Canadian and the Satedan.

"But we will have to wait for the Jumper, it's going to take too much time since they went for the village! And we won't be able to carry him by ourselves back to the 'Gate the way we came: we're in a real jungle, even healthy people that do not suffer from a possibly severe head injury risk their lives only by climbing their way on the cliff side and through those giant alien brackens!"

McKay exclaimed behind them, halfway between complaining about their walk in the forest and worrying about the C.O.

"I can carry him." Ronon simply offered, glowering at the corpse of the alien captor. Dex was not the kind of man that willingly let good friends get injured by sadist minor leaders.

"We should not move him much yet. I contacted Major Lorne before entering the base ten minutes ago; he said he will be there in less than an hour with the rescue team and doctor Beckett. I suggest we wait for them, it is the only way we can make sure colonel Sheppard's injuries will not worsen." Teyla spoke.

"And if there are more of those grunts, what do we do?" The scientist asked, disapproving any solution that included doing nothing but waiting.

"M… M'kay?"

A weak and croaking voice wheezed softly for the second time, so confused and hesitating they did not recognize it at first. It was Sheppard: Rodney's annoying tone was in fact so annoying it brought the injured man back to consciousness. When the man that laid limply on the floor, standing apart from dead bodies, started to stir, the 3 rescuers felt more relieved and it showed on their face.

The disorientated Sheppard attempted to sit up, but froze, winced, flinched and shuddered from the pain to then collapse back even before McKay could gently press on his able shoulder to keep him from moving around too much.

"Stay still, colonel, the Jumper is on its way and Beckett is aboard."

Teyla told him reassuringly, smiling softly, knowing the doctor's name itself was enough for the injured man to understand. He was so pale and looked so feverish at the same time, dust sticking to the sheen of sweat covering his face and blood caking on the side of it.

"I'm good… I'm… _fine_…" The colonel slurred huskily with his eyes half closed, sluggishly pushing away the Canadian's hand holding him on the floor.

But the sudden movement pulled on his sore ribs and shook to his abused shoulder. He could not hold back a chocked and broken yelp before he tried to hug, to secure and to clasp tightly with his able hand both his chest and his other arm at the same time. The 3 others stayed silent a short moment, glancing at each other with concern.

But then the scientist became more irritated by the colonel's attitude than he was unnerved at the moment:

"No you're not fine; no one can call _this_ "fine", you look horrible even with the light dimmed like in here! How many time will I need to remind you that playing at Mister _I-pretend-I-don't-feel-that-huge-bleeding-hole-in-my-chest-because-it-looks-malier-if-I-act-this-way_ is absolutely pointless?!"

"This time doesn't count: you're there, you all seem to be doin' great, so yeah, I'm fine." Sheppard unexpectedly answered weakly.

His sheepish smile, pale skin, dried blood and lines of pain on his face making his statement sound off at first. But he was sending his friend a message they could not ignore. Again, Teyla, Ronon and Rodney exchanged a look, the Athosian soon touched, the Satedan amused and the Canadian more like astounded by this sudden show of friendship.

The pilot closed his eyes; of course he was out of it, and so dizzy he thought he was going to be sick again all over the place, of course he had that titanic headache, his broken bones and abused sinews were killing him, he was cold and stiff as if he spend days in freezing water, but, hey, they were safe, like he told them, and now it was all that mattered.

How much he wanted to sleep now: he was so exhausted since his previous adrenalin rush died down that he knew he could not move by himself from where he was lying even if he has not been injured in the first place.

"Hey, no no no! You don't go to sleep, colonel; no sleeping on a concussion until Beckett flashes his penlight in your eyes and does his Voodoo tricks on you!"

McKay suddenly exclaimed, slightly startling John as the scientist tapped gently on his pale cheeks to get his attention and keep him awake. The colonel owlishly blinked, confused and about to fall back to sleep, granting an exasperated sigh from Rodney,

"All right, I guess it means I will have to lead a _discussion_ if we want to keep you away from the arms of Morpheus. But I doubt you'll say anything concise so we'll be the two of us far from enjoying this." The scientist complained, rolling his eyes.

"You're going to bore him to death." Ronon commented, grinning teasingly as he was starting to forget about him previous anger since the relief washed it away.

"Ha ha, very funny, and I really appreciate your help."

McKay did sarcasms, obviously. Yet an idea suddenly struck him and he added, more enthusiast:

"Sheppard, I got something you might like to hear: did you know Ronon bluffed when he said the alien guy using you as his shield was surrounded and could not escape?"

"There were only the three of us." Ronon commented.

"What d'you mean?" John slurred, frowning.

"I knew it, when it's about guns and tactics you automatically get interested!" McKay chimed in, before keeping on with a bit of contempt in his tone: "Back at the 'Gate, when we came back on the planet to save your scrawny self, Conan's _spider sense_ was startled and he simply asked to stop the Jumper and ran off to the forest like a rabid bloodhound tracking its prey."

"We found a path in the forest and followed it while staying in contact with the Jumper heading for the nearest village. It leaded us straight to the base where we are." Teyla explained, still smiling soothingly at her colonel.

"Oh." Sheppard simply said, fighting his exhaustion the best he could to stay awake.

"Yes, you're right: _oh_." Mimicked Rodney, before adding: "By the way, they did not believe me in the first place when I told them you were asking the creepy pink alien to bring you your grenades, but what do you planned to do with _those_ anyway?"

"First the alien was more like orange… and then: y… you were listening? For how long" Sheppard managed to slur, rubbing his sore temple with his able hand in case it could help him think more clearly through the fog in his brain.

"Well not for long: we reached this door over there about when you started describing the _black thing_. But I had to short circuit the door to open it and, even if those grunts know nothing about basic civilised weapons, the lock was more complex to work with than crystals. Of course that wasn't even a challenge to _me_…"

McKay answered rising his chin with a confident pride. Seeing Sheppard massaging his temples and wincing, he then added on an accusing tone:

"So, will you tell us what you planned to do with a grenade in a tiny underground cell? You were not going to start fireworks while you were still in there, right? Because that really seems like something stupid you would gladly do…"

"I won't say anythin'." John simply grumbled tiredly. In fact, he did not have a real plan at the moment he asked for grenades. Even with a rattled brain, he knew he was never going to live through if he admitted it to Rodney.

"You _have_ to answer: we saved you, so you own us one!" Rodney replied

But it took more time to the pilot to answer since he was at that moment trying to sit up once again, only to fail miserably and very agonizingly. He hissed at the pain that shot through his body and froze. He took the time to wait for the pain to subdue a bit before speaking, his vision too blurred to see the concerned look of his team mates:

"Yeah, you did. Thanks…"

"So?" The scientist put on.

"… What?" Slurred John, confused.

"Look at yourself: you really knocked your head hard: you don't even think about reminding me all the times you saved me!... Uh… or _helped_ me more than saved me…" McKay exclaimed.

Sheppard looked surprised –yes, he has been indeed knocked really hard on the head- and his eyes shot open and darted on the familiar faces over him. "Hey, you're right: I saved you many times so we'… we're even, at least!" He exclaimed, but sounded a bit drunk anyway.

"No, that's too late now that I suggested you the answer, you can't come up with it! It doesn't count!" Rodney replied.

"It _does_ count!" Protested Sheppard, looking offend… a beaten up and offended drunk judging by how he looked at the moment.

"Not at all, too late!"

"It does"

"Not a chance, I saved you!"

"I saved you _more_!"

"That's the past, it doesn't count!"

"'t does!"

…

And Ronon and Teyla could not help but grin at those two arguing pointlessly like spoiled kids. Not so far from them, they could hear the soft hum that the Jumper made, knowing they would soon be heading for Atlantis their home, with Sheppard still alive and doing well enough to bicker with the scientist, knowing a trip to the infirmary was going to be necessary but comforting no matter if then the pilot was going to complain about the scrubs he was going to be wearing.

Over all, that sounded like a true win for the good guys…

**The Happy Ending!!! Yay!**

**00000000000000000000000000000000**

**I really hope it wasn't so bad after all**

**Don't be shy, you can comment, you can tell me what do you think of this fiction, of the plot (of the whump hehe)**

**Anyway: thanks a lot for reading it, I love you all hehehe**


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